


Folded Feathers

by Era_Penn



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Discrimination, Fluffy, Ghosts, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Prompt Fill, Spideypool - Freeform, Tacos, Wingfic, angsty, not by much, slightly less crazy Wade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 12:15:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5090354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Era_Penn/pseuds/Era_Penn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of everyone who ever saw Peter's pitch black wings, only three people stayed: Uncle Ben, Aunt May, and Gwen Stacy. Two of them are dead. Peter refuses to show his wings to anyone else, ever.</p><p>And then Wade Wilson comes along with his gorgeous white and gold wings and ruins everything.</p><p>(Except, he's the only one who can make Peter laugh, these days, so maybe it's just a painful sort of fixing.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Folded Feathers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aimvena95](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimvena95/gifts).



“SPIDEY!” a delighted voice screeched.

Peter groaned. “Deadpool.”

“Aw, you don’t sound excited to see me.” The merc flapped down on the roof next to him. “And here I thought we were becoming such great friends!”

He’d realized about a week ago that he was spending a disconcerting amount of time with Wade, and also that in his head he called the assassin by his first name. He had promptly decided to ignore that revelation and the implications, because he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be just friends with Wade Wilson. Turning to face the other man, Peter rolled his eyes behind his mask, desperately trying to keep from staring. “Why are you wearing bunny ears?”

Wade smirked, putting a hand on one hip and thrusting his wings out a little bit. “Like ‘em?”

Peter barely caught himself before he spit out a yes, and not about the ears. Wade Wilson’s wings were absolutely stunning. Sure, some days they were scarred up pretty bad, but the feathers practically glowed, and despite past damage, were clearly healthy. 

The backs of Wade’s wings were all varying shades of beautiful golden-brown except the flights, which were brilliantly white. Peter wasn’t sure how Wade kept them so clean; Gwen used to complain about hers all the time. The undersides of Wade’s wings were entirely white, but freckled with that same golden-brown. They stretched at least eighteen feet from tip to tip, probably more, and every feather lay in its place.

Peter didn’t even want to think about the state of his own wings. He pretty much always kept them tucked tight against his spine, invisible to others’ eyes. He could feel out of place feathers prickling him, but last time he tried to spend time grooming them, he’d ripped out feathers. 

“Helllloooooo~ Earth to Spideeeeyyyy~”

“Oh, sorry. Just thinking. What do you want, ‘pool?” Despite himself, Peter felt his wings relax just a titch. He wasn’t sure why, or when it had come about, but the mercenary felt… safe.

“So, I was asking around, cuz I thought it might just be me - you know, the wing thing - but it’s like, no one knows what your wings look like! And I was curious. So I was coming to see if I could see your wings. Cuz I want to.”

“NO!”

Deadpool took a step back at the force of the reply and the general spidery-ness Peter was giving off. Peter’s wings regained their tension, tucked even closer and tighter to his body, and judging by Wade’s narrowed eyes, he’d noticed.

Peter took a deep breath. “Sorry. Just. No. They’re not much to look at anyway.”

“Neither is our face, but we showed you that!”

“There’s nothing wrong with scars, W- Deadpool.” 

“Well will you tell us what they look like?”

Saved by the bell, Peter thought, his spidey-senses going off and sirens echoing in his ears. “Duty calls,” he said, and jumped off the building.

* * *

Peter was six when he learned it would be best to keep his wings hidden away. There were laws by that time stopping persecution based on wing type, size, and color, but people always have their prejudices. There were plenty of good people in the world who wouldn’t judge Peter based on the color of his wings. He just didn’t meet any of them.

Eight boys from his school had attacked him and tried to clip his flights. All eight ended up in the hospital, and though Peter hadn’t known it at the time, were sent to juvie for the attempt. Clipping a person’s wings was one of the worst crimes it was possible to commit. The experience had taught him to be cautious about revealing his wings; the rejection he faced over and over again had cemented his need to hide them. Peter had transferred schools and only flew when no one would recognize him. He kept his wings in working order, but rarely groomed them, as dwelling on the solid black feathers gave him anxiety attacks that occasionally ended only with fistfuls of loose black down floating around his room. The result of the plucking was even thicker, darker plumage.

Peter hated it. He wished he had pretty gray patterns like his aunt, or pale silvery feathers like his uncle. He wished he had spots or speckles or even weird stripes. He wished he had wings that were anything, absolutely anything, other than solid, spotless, black.

* * *

(At least it isn’t just us.) 

[Yeah, but] 

I know, I know, I wanna see ‘em too! Wade huffed at the boxes. 

(We could just pin him and pull them out, like with crazy people!)

[Yeah, not like Spidey likes us anyway.]

“Not doing it!” Wade complained. The woman at the circulation desk glared at him, and Wade sunk down behind his book. It must be written in another language or something.

[It’s upside down, duh.]

(Reeealllly? Cool! Hey, can we read upside down? Can we? I bet that would impress him.)

[I doubt it.]

This is boring.

(No kidding! Why are we even here?)

Wade thought of his empty apartment and the voices shut up for just a second.

[Not like we deserve any better anyway.]

(Hey, I wonder if tacos exist in Asgard?)

What does that even have to do with anything. “Shut up,” Wade muttered, standing. He shook out his feathers lightly, drawing almost every eye.

(Our wings are awesome.)

[Only good thing about us really.]

Not true!

[Name one thing.]

We make a mean taco.

(And chimichangas!)

[I doubt tacos are going to get Spidey to show us his wings.]

After prolonged debate, they decided it wouldn’t hurt to try.

* * *

Peter blinked at the odd spectacle in front of him. "Uh," he said eloquently, "what the hell?"

Wade grinned at him from his seat on the red-checkered tablecloth, holding out a takeout box. "Taco? I made them myself and stole the takeout boxes. I make really good tacos."

Unable to think up a suitable reply, Peter slowly sat down, blinking at the frightening number of candles lighting the space, and took the taco.

“Uh… okay. What’s the occasion, exactly?”

“Tacos.”

“Tacos are the occasion.”

“Yes.”

“Well, whatever. Free food.” Peter shrugged and bit into the taco. “I’ve died and gone to heaven, haven’t I.”

Wade grinned smugly and offered another taco.

* * *

It became a thing. Every week or two, Peter and Wade had tacos and talked. They discussed a number of subjects. Video games were a hot topic; occasionally they argued morality, though neither particularly enjoyed that. Sometimes Wade ranted about ‘the author’ whatever that meant, and sometimes Peter gave into a little griping of his own, usually about food prices or his boss. Wade tried to guess his name - but never came close. His ideas of good names were Pinky Pie and Oberon King of the Fairies; that one led to a surprisingly in-depth discussion of Shakespeare that was honestly a bit over Peter’s head.

Peter was completely bewildered by this development. He hadn’t met up with anyone this regularly since Gwen - since Gwen. And now, suddenly, he was achieving actual social interaction. With Deadpool. And liked it. And every time, he’d have to resist presenting when a specific posture made Wade’s gorgeous wings flare out, or when the other man made him laugh. He hadn’t laughed since Gwen, either, but Wade was managing to make him on a regular basis. She would’ve liked him.

“Hey, Wade,” Peter interrupted his tirade about Peter Pan and the pros and cons of Neverland. “I want you to meet someone.”

Wade blinked at him. “Um, okay.”

“Let’s go,” Peter said, determined to introduce Wade to Gwen before he lost his nerve. He refused to admit to himself exactly why he needed to make the introductions, but he did.

Wade followed him, chattering, but went quiet when they arrived at the cemetery. He fell silent between rows of cold headstones.

Peter stopped in front of a polished marble headstone with a spider carved in one side. “Hey, Gwen,” he said. “I brought someone to meet you. This is Wade.”

“Hi Gwen!” Wade said, somewhat less cheerful than normal.

“Gwen was…” Peter went quiet. “She saved me from everything, including myself.”

Wade regarded the tombstone in awe.

“Anyway,” Peter said abruptly, “We’re going to be too late to get pizza at the bistro if we don’t hurry.” He spun on his heel and walked away. He could introduce Wade to Ben later. This was such a bad idea, he shouldn’t have… He wasn’t ready to face her. Them.

Wade followed him away, eventually breaking the silence to ramble about angels, and Peter thawed in the wake of his words, eventually returning to his normal, snarky self.

* * *

After Spidey went home for the night, Wade went back to the cemetery, unusually grave. 

(Cemetaries are booooriiing)

[shh, it’s for spidey]

(she’s dead, not like she can hear us)

[Miss Death will pass on our message though]

“Shut up,” Wade murmured. “Not you,” he hastily added, tracing “GWEN” with one careful finger. “Spidey loved you, we can tell. He got all quiet and broken when he said your name.”

Wade listened, but there was no reply. Even the voices were quiet.

“Spidey _loved_ you,” Wade repeated. “And… I don’t know if he’ll love me like that, but I’ll take care of him for you anyway. I doubt I need to explain to you, the author probably is letting you listen and I mean you knew him. How couldn’t you love him?”

(Yeah, Spidey’s the best!)

[He is certainly a hero we don’t deserve.]

“Yeah, so we’ll take care of him.”

He raised his eyes and, just for a second, he saw a girl with long blonde hair and fierce eyes watching him. 

“You’d better,” her lips said, though no sound emerged.

Wade nodded. 

(Woah)

[Woah]

Woah.

This was one promise Wade wouldn’t break.

* * *

It didn’t really surprise Peter when Natasha the all-knowing cornered him after a battle one afternoon while they ate the traditional Avenger’s triumph feast. He only really worked with them during alien invasions where numbers were an issue, but he and Natasha were buds, of a kind. Peter thought she might think of him as some kind of pet or spider protege. Natasha’s sixteen-foot russet, white, and black wings suited her.

“Are you dating Deadpool?” she asked.

“I wish,” he replied, and ran away from the whole issue.

The next time they met, she asked, “Why?”

And Peter replied, “He’s the only one left who can make me laugh for real.”

Natasha seemed satisfied with that answer as she nodded. “That I understand,” she said. She dropped it, and rejoined Hawkeye, murmuring something under her breath that made the archer nod and smile. They turned together to rejoin the others. Peter didn’t think the other Avengers noticed (or if they did they didn’t care).

* * *

When Wade continued holding regular taco nights on a very odd schedule that only made vague sense, Peter’s cursed sense of right kicked in and complained that he was just using Wade for free food. He tried to argue with it, because the amount of food he had to consume was ridiculous (he’d outeaten THOR once), but morality didn’t listen.

Peter stared as his taco. “So I realize you’ve been feeding me for a while,” Peter said, “how ‘bout next time I bring something?”

Wade sort of gaped at him. Yeah, he really should take some kind of handling-a-guilt-trip-101 class or something.

“You dare besmirch the sacred ritual of taco night?” Wade said, absolute horror painted across the lower half of his face and in his voice.

Peter, after taking a moment to process, burst into laughter. “Sorry,” he finally managed. “I just feel bad because you keep bringing me food and I’m not bringing you anything.”

Those golden-brown wings ruffled indignantly. “Excuse you, I kill people for money. I’m filthy rich...emphasis on the filthy.” The miffed, haughty expression on his face made Peter think of a rich little princess who had just been informed that she’d stepped in horse manure.

Peter was laughing again. “Still, I’d like to do something.”

“Okay, then you’re in charge of drinks. I’m running out of everything but alcohol, and you won’t drink on duty.”

“I can’t legally drink for another year anyway.”

Wade spit out his lemonade. “Wait, what?!”

“I’m twenty.”

“But… you’ve been Spider-Man for five years!”

“Yep.”

“I can’t believe the Avengers let a kid without a driver’s license fight crime.”

“They don’t exactly know how old I am. They know I’m young, but they think I’m more like twenty-five… Well, I think Tony’s figured it out, but he’s not exactly the poster child for age norms.”

“Spidey lies?”

“More like selectively allows people to make untrue assumptions.”

“Semantics.”

“Wow, that was a big word for you.”

“I think the author was getting bored,” Wade said, “her vocabulary is more advanced than mine.”

“Uh-huh. I’ll bring drinks next time.”

“You got it!”

* * *

As he slammed into the side of a building, Peter wondered how he always managed to get into these situations. Dodging left as a thick black goop stuck to the wall next to him, he launched himself forward, drilling a shot straight into Venom’s center of gravity, and really wished he’d taken the Avengers up on their offer of a comm unit to call them on.

Except he just knew there was a tracker built in and he’d rather not let SHIELD know who he was or where he lived, thanks.

Spider-Man, as a solo hero, really didn’t have back-up if he needed it. He almost never did, thankfully - his speed and maneuverability gave him an advantage over most opponents. Mostly he needed backup when horribly outnumbered, which generally was only a thing during alien invasions. Usually he teamed up with the Avengers or other vigilantes for those.

And then there was Venom, who was essentially the Hulkified version of himself. Sometimes he really wanted back-up against the symbiote. Like now, he thought with a groan, shifting rubble off of himself and looking around. Sure enough, Venom had vanished along with approximately 6 million in jewelry.

He felt squooshed. “Ow, ow, ow!” he gasped when he tried to move his wings. Glancing over his shoulder, his heart dropped into his stomach. His left wing hung awkwardly, in plain view. He wouldn’t be able to set the bone himself. Aunt May couldn’t do it. Gwen was dead. He needed to set the bone fast, too, or it would heal wrong. Super-healing had its disadvantages.

Peter staggered to his feet, looking around desperately as sirens approached. He slipped out the back door and webbed up to the nearest building, where he collapsed beneath the lip. He had to get the bone set before it healed wrong and had to be re-set. Now, who did he know who could set a bone?

_Wade, you idiot._

Peter’s head jerked up. “Gwen?” The only answer was silence, but Peter stood, head spinning. Maybe it was a figment of his imagination, but Gwen’s voice had a point. Wade would help. No wait, didn’t want him to see his wings… Wade was safe though. Safe. Peter stumbled in the direction of Wade’s apartment automatically, and he resigned himself to the inevitable. 

At least Wade would probably help him before Peter was left behind again.

* * *

Wade was paranoid, so when his window slid quietly open, he nearly chopped the intruder’s head off. Whoever it was dropped, landing on their back with a sharp hiss of, “ _Wade_!”

Wade paused. Blinked. “Spidey?”

“Help?”

[Spidey never asks for help] 

(Yeah, never)

“What -”

“I- I broke a wing,” Spider-Man said. That…

(He just fell on his back when we -)

[Broken Spidey, we _don’t like it_ -]

“I can’t set it myself,” Spider-Man said, interrupting the internal monologue.

Wade’s thoughts ground to a halt. “And you came to _me_?” he asked, shocked.

Spider-Man sighed. “Don’t really have anyone else.”

[Oh, that is just sad]

“Wade, focus. I need to set - it’ll heal wrong -”

“Right, right, - come in? How d’you know where I live - don’t answer that, doesn’t matter right now -”

(Hey! Has Spidey been stalking us?)

“what, it doesn’t - which wing?”

“Left.”

“Want me to dope you up?”

“Please. Give me like three times what a normal person would take. At least.”

(Drugged Spidey, at our mercy -)

[Shut it yellow, now is not the time for your fantasies]

“You got it.” Wade moved Spidey from his back on the floor to his stomach on Wade’s bed and provided meds before looking at Spidey’s wing. One clean break; relatively easy to set. “Deep breaths,” he instructed.

Spidey obeyed. “Jus’ get it over with…”

So Wade does. Spidey passes out before he finishes binding the injury.

(Let’s look at his wings!)

“What? No! He doesn’t want us to!”

[But he came to us]

“Only ‘cuz he didn’t have a choice.”

(So? Still basically permission)

[What if he’s hurt more?]

(Yeah, what white-turned-brackets said!)

His boxes were agreeing, what was wrong with the universe. Or right, he realized, looking at Peter. “Fine!” He flicked on the light and gently tugged Spidey’s wings out. The feathers were bent and uncared for; it looked like someone had pulled them out and they’d grown back in places. Wade’s fingers instinctively started straightening feathers, grooming the other man’s wings. He was horrified; why would Spidey let them get in such a state? Why would anyone pluck the young hero? 

The voices didn’t answer as Wade worked, fingers dancing over silky black plumage.

Wait.

Back up.

He’d been so preoccupied with their sorry state that he’d forgotten to look at them!

Spider-Man’s wings were just over fifteen feet from tip to tip, and healthy despite their unkempt state. As Wade’s fingers untangled feathers, they had a glossy sheen. The backs of the wings were a beautiful solid black, like obsidian. He wondered if the insides matched.

(A blackbird, I’ve never seen one!)

[shut UP]

Wade stopped when his fingers caught on a ridge along the edges of the flight feathers, carefully examining the area. Tracing Spidey’s flights was a jagged scar under the next layer of feathers.

Someone had tried to pinion him.

Rage flared and died. No wonder Spidey was so skittish.

Wade worked his way over the back of the rest of both wings. Just as he neared the end of the right wing (where he found a matching scar), Spidey stirred.

“What…”

“Turn over.”

Spidey obeyed without thinking. The insides of his wings were just as ruffled, and equally black.

(Less glossy though. Like coal.)

[As if.]

Wade continued grooming, moving as quickly as he could. The more lucid Spidey got, the more nervous he seemed. Sure enough, just as Wade finished, Spidey tried to snap his wings in and away from his hands. The right one complied easily, but Spidey grabbed the left one with a yelp.

“What happened?”

“I was hoping you could tell me. One moment, tacos. Next moment, hurt Spidey sneaking in my window.”

* * *

Peter woke up to the hazy feeling of gentle fingers preening his wings. “What…”

“Turn over,” a voice demanded, and Peter obeyed automatically, surprised when lying on his back produced none of the pinching and itching that usually accompanied his unkempt wings. Those same fingers started moving over his underwings. Peter, slowly waking up, got tenser and tenser as he realized someone was touching his wings, however nice it felt. The moment the hands reached the very tip of his feathers, he snapped them in. Or tried to. The right wing went with no problems, but he grabbed the left one with a yelp.

“What happened?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.” 

Ah, crap, that was Wade. Wade had seen his wings. Once his curiosity was satisfied, he’d tell Peter to leave, and Peter would go, and there would be no more tacos.

Wade continued, “One moment, tacos. Next moment, hurt Spidey sneaking in my window.”

Peter frowned. What… “Oh-” he breathed, “Venom.” The alien symbiote had cornered him - and then dropped a building on him. Peter looked up at Wade, opening his mouth to thank the merc, apologize, and get ready to go. Instead he stopped, eyes widening. Wade’s wings were arching behind him in a familiar gesture. Was Wade presenting? To him, after seeing that he was a blackbird?

There was a pause, during which Wade seemed to realize what he was doing and Peter resigned himself to horror and the loss of the man he sort of loved a lot.

And then Wade arched his beautiful, white wings a little higher and turned, flaunting them.

Peter fought to keep his own wings from responding as Wade turned back around, but they relaxed and loosened. Since Wade’s mask was rolled up over his nose, Peter could see his brilliant grin.

“They’re beautiful, y’know,” Wade said, “like polished obsidian.”

Peter couldn’t help it - he laughed. “Sure,” he said bitterly, “that’s why you’re one of precisely four people not to run the other way when you saw them.”

“...Huh?”

“My own _parents_ ditched when they realized I was a blackbird.”

“Who else.”

“My aunt. The other two are dead.”

“Well, everyone else is dumb then. What about the other Avengers?”

“Haven’t exactly shown them,” Peter shrugged. “Don’t want to risk it.”

“Well, they’re beautiful.” Wade reached forward, and, ever-so-gently, traced a finger over the scars on Peter’s left wing. He tensed, but slightly extended his right wing. Wade repeated the action there. “Who…”

“When I was six - shortly after my parents left - that was when I started hiding,” Peter said.

“No wonder,” Wade murmured. “They’re still beautiful, Spidey.”

“I did most of the other damage myself.” Peter refused to look when Wade’s fingers stopped moving, bracing for pain. He shrunk in on himself a little, curled his wings a little closer, trying to hide from the disgust he just knew Wade’s face was etched with in that moment. He plucked his own wings. What kind of monster was he, now Wade would leave -

Moments later he found himself wrapped up in white wings and muscled arms. “Still beautiful, Spidey” Wade insisted.

Peter sighed, resigned to the prolonged pain before the inevitable. He owed the merc at least a name. “It’s Peter.”

“What?” Deadpool sounded completely shocked.

“My name is Peter.”

Wade laughed. “Just like your photogr- no way.”

“Way.”

“Spidey - Peter - you professionally take selfies and sell them to people who hate you.”

“Guy’s gotta eat. Especially with an enhanced metabolism.”

“Can I _please_ court you, like officially - I’ve been trying for weeks, if you hadn’t noticed -”

“Peter’s different from Spider-Man.”

“Only in terms of confidence, I already knew you were a sarcastic awkward nerd.”

“No dead things on my doorstep,” Peter said in resignation, knowing there was no stopping the other man now, “or windowsill.”

Wade, beaming, pulled back and presented his wings.

Peter, hesitantly, returned the gesture.

* * *

When Spider-Man took a hard hit in a battle, the last thing they expected was for the kid to tell them not to worry, his boyfriend was coming to pick him up. Tony hoisted him up to lean on his shoulder and kept him talking and awake. 

“He’s sooo nice,” Spidey said, dreamily. “He makes me tacos every week. All the tacos I can eat. You know how many tacos that is?”

Tony grinned, bemused. “No, how many?”

Spider-Man paused for a minute, looking at his fingers. He hit at least twenty before he gave up and turned to Tony. “I don’t know,” he said. “Lots.”

And then Deadpool showed up and Spider-Man launched himself at the merc with a mouth. “WADE! How many tacos can I eat? I can’t remember, Tony asked, how many is it?” There really was no denying the way every muscle in the kid’s body relaxed, even his wings loosening a little in their usual tight furl, when the merc showed.

“I dunno, Spidey,” Deadpool said, laughing. “A lot. Yellow says at least thirty tacos, but white thinks it’s more like fifty.”

Spidey nodded and peered at Deadpool from where he was hanging in his arms. The two stared at each other for a long moment.

“How are we going to explain this one?” Deadpool asked, scooping Spider-Man up and turning to walk away.

“Mugging?”

“So last week.”

“Subway accident?”

“Would make the news.”

“Bullies?”

“...Actually, that might work.” Deadpool steps gained a little bounce as Spider-Man’s arms wrapped around his neck. “My place or yours?”

“Yours,” Spider-Man replied before the two vanished.

The Avengers stared after them in silence.

“The paperwork for this is going to be horrendous,” Tony grumbled.

“At least now we know why Deadpool’s been much less active and much more selective about his targets lately,” Natasha said.

* * *

Spider-Man didn’t intentionally reveal his wings to the Avengers - he’d just forgotten he was supposed to hide them in public, even when Wade was around. So, one day when he’d joined the Avengers for a post-battle feast and Wade showed up, he’d automatically extended one wing to brush against Wade’s in greeting.

He froze when he noticed the Avengers had all gone quiet. Flinching slightly, Peter started to draw back.

“Wow, your wings are _gorgeous_ , Tony said, and the floodgates opened. Avengers, preening and tugging, and dammit that tickled -

“Waaaade, help!” Peter yelped, but his boyfriend just grinned. His boyfriend could use a little love.

Tony frantically groomed long flight feathers as Clint and Natasha smoothed the down insides of his wings. Thor and Steve brushed big hands over the backs as Coulson found and traced old scars. Bruce straightened the tiny feathers along Peter’s spine.

“That brings your count up to eleven,” Wade remarked.

Peter grumbled at him, a bit overwhelmed as he tried to push free of his team. Wade, noticing Peter’s slight panic, pushed and pulled the Avengers back, giving his boyfriend room to breathe.

Peter elected to hide behind Wade, much to the others’ diappointment.

“Spider-Man,” Coulson said, soft voice instantly setting him on edge, “Who tried to pinion you?”

Peter shrugged as the other Avengers dropped straight down into the realm of ‘send the supervillain to hell.’ “Wilson?” Natasha demanded.

“He won’t tell me either,” Wade whined.

“I was six, I don’t actually know!” Peter said, only managing to spark everyone into mob-grooming him again, until he was breathless with laughter.

“Told you,” Wade whispered in his ear.

“Oh, shut up,” Peter said, a tiny, happy smile on his face that Wade wanted to kiss.

So he did.

**Author's Note:**

> VOILA another prompt filled. I already had a short draft of this written, so I revised, expanded, and cheered because someone gave me an excuse to write and post spideypool. :D
> 
> ...I did my best writing Wade, but writing crazy is hard 
> 
> **HEY**
> 
> I mean... writing Wade is tricky, so yeah. Just pretend he's more Deadpoolish.


End file.
